


By Contrast With The Love

by CavalryofWoah



Series: The Robin Is The One [2]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mothers Day, Past Child Abuse, could be gen is intended to be pre-relationship, family gets complicated in the batfam but Talia al Ghul is a level unto herself, is this canon compliant? maybe??, quick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalryofWoah/pseuds/CavalryofWoah
Summary: Mothers Day can be difficult for Damian, more so than the others. Steph understands, though. 
“I’m sorry,” she continues, and he blinks in confusion.“For what?”“A lot of things, usually. Today? I’m sorry that you love her. I’m sorry that isn’t enough.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, 'tis me. Making things sad, making things fluffy. The usual.  
> Also as usual, title is from an Emily Dickinson poem. This one is hella sad, fair warning. The full sentence I took the title from is  
> "Or would they go on aching still  
> Through centuries above,  
> Enlightened to a larger pain  
> By contrast with the love."  
> It's from Life: CXVI, also known as "I measure every grief I meet"

The days are lengthening out again, sunset barely closing in at eight. The colors are fading out of the sky, slipping away into darkness, but while they last the Gotham smog is glowing a brilliant orange. Pink near the center, purple at the edges, beautiful and bright.

Damian is staring away into the shadows, ignoring the dying sun, and Steph is in almost the right mood to read something into that. Probably something stupid. Damian is dramatic, but he’s also practical. He probably just doesn’t want to damage his eyesight early.

She sits down next to him on the rooftop ledge, facing the light behind him. Back to the drop, always on the edge of losing her balance. Always on the edge of falling. He’s looking down, pessimistic but prepared to catch himself.

Steph really needs to stop reading those purple-prose lit books Jason suggests.

They sit in silence, ignoring the cold shivers of wind-nipped skin as night closes in. The snow is gone, but summer is still a ways off.

“Did Grayson send you?” Damian asks at last.

“Tim, actually.”

“I apologize,” he frowns. “I do not know why he disturbed you. Today was special.”

“He was worried, silly.”

“Tt. If he was worried it was only over a lack of efficiency.”

Steph sighs. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

“Belief is irrelevant. It is true.”

“Okay, Damian.” He clenches his fists at the sadness in her voice. Unlike Grayson it isn’t tainted with pity, but it still burns him. He doesn’t want to be looked down on. He is _right_ , and they are simply too blinded by hope to realize it. Not everyone is as soft-hearted as they are.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, and he blinks in confusion.

“For what?”

“A lot of things, usually. Today? I’m sorry that you love her. I’m sorry that isn’t enough.”

Damian looks away from her profile beside him, down to the passing cars and the flickering lights and the people passing by. “That is not your fault.”

“I know. I’m still sorry. Sorry the others don’t understand, too.”

“How can they?” They’ve had this conversation before, the two of them. It comes out at certain times of year, when they’re feeling particularly maudlin and self-pitying. “They have no basis of comparison.”

“Yeah,” Steph laughs softly, bitterly. “Not many people have parents who tried to kill them.”

“Go, Brown. You are supposed to be with your mother.”

“I spent all day with her, Damian. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Nowhere? Nowhere in the world better than a dingy rooftop in a rotten city in the cold?” He crosses his arms, hunching forward over the drop a bit more.

Steph sways to the side and knocks her shoulder against his, watching the night leech the color from the sky. “Nowhere better than with a friend.”

Silence descends, but Steph can be patient. Sometimes. When it matters. If he needs quiet she can be quiet.

But perhaps… perhaps he’s had enough of quiet for a while.

“...since you are here anyways…”

“Hmmmm?” Steph tries to keep the eagerness out of her voice, fiddling with the buckle of her boot between her crossed legs.

“...perhaps you would be willing to sacrifice your night off and accompany me on patrol?”

“Of course, Dami.” Steph gets up with a stretch and a smile, and spins to offer him a hand up. Damian takes it, turning as he stands to face her, and she’s silhouetted by the last of the dying light. “All you had to do was ask.”

The hole in his chest shifts, smaller.


End file.
